Nine-Tenths of the Law
by The Mad Fangirl
Summary: Just when you thought Kenny was headed for the containment unit...He's ba-ack, and the Ghostbusters are nowhere to be found. Egad! Also, new special guests pop in for a visit - nod ya head!


Longer Summary: Well, looks like Kenny wasn't as under-wraps as we all thought. Call the Ghostbusters again...if you can find them! Seems they're off to parts unknown, clearing the way in Sara's life for a certain Ancient Greek with a talent for ticking off deities. So that guest star turn is over for the time being, but never fear, the Highlander folks are still hanging around, as well as some other new guests you'll likely recognize. This fic is part of my ongoing humor series beginning back in the first season, and follows the story "Fred, Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse." This one's the post-Lagrimas story. Coming eventually, a guide to this series.  
  
Title: Nine-Tenths of the Law  
  
Spoilers: Through the 7-15-02 episode, Lagrimas.  
  
Author: The Mad Fangirl  
  
Archive: Wherever, but let me know.  
  
Disclaimer: The characters herein are owned by other people and I make no money from their shameless exploitation.  
  
Author's Note: And here I thought Longinus was the one cursed to wander. Serves me for getting my biblical info from Rutger Hauer movies.  
  
* * *  
  
Nine-Tenths of the Law by The Mad Fangirl  
  
* * *  
  
BEFORE...  
  
Sara Pezzini walked into the Ghostbusters' firehouse to silence, which was then broken by the occasional snap of gum. This came from the redhead behind the front desk. Sara had never actually met Janine, though she'd heard plenty of stories from Peter.  
  
"So, where is everybody?"  
  
"What's it to ya?" the redhead said, studying her fingernails and sounding bored.  
  
Sara leaned forward. "I'm dating the cute one. Just wondering when he'll be back."  
  
Janine froze, and then a mask of utter professionalism descended over her nonchalance. "I'm sorry. The Ghostbusters aren't available. They're on an urgent mission in the Netherworld, and due to the discrepancies between Netherworld time and our time, may be gone up to a year, Eastern Standard." She adjusted her glasses. "He told me to give you a message. Don't wait for him. Move on with your life, and if it's meant to work out, it will."  
  
"Damn," Pez said. "I kinda liked Peter, but if that's the way he wants it, that's how we'll do it. Let him know he can call when he gets back."  
  
"Certainly, ma'am," Janine replied, taking her information. Pez left, and was past out the door, before the light clicked on over her head.  
  
"Peter! She's dating Peter, not Egon!" Janine pressed her fists to her temples. "Peter's gonna kill me!"  
  
~~~~~SOME TIME LATER...Y'KNOW, MY STANDARD TWO WEEKS OR SO...ANYWAY, AFTER THAT WHAT WENT DOWN IN "LAGRIMAS"~~~~~  
  
Wanting to reciprocate an earlier show of hospitality, the original Season One Nottingham had invited his girlfriend Amanda and her houseguest to the mansion for dinner and drinks. Said houseguest was a difficult concept for Nottingham to get his mind around; in this life, he was mild-mannered Adam Pierson, but in Ian's past life as mascot for the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, he'd been his master Methos, also called Death.  
  
Dinner was excellent, and the conversation had begun as innocuously as possible for three skilled, practiced killers who were either Immortal or one of the universe's running gags. Still, the conversation had inevitably turned to a discussion of Nottingham's youngest brother's latest self- sabotaging behavior.  
  
"All I'm saying," Ian said, "is that I understand why he did it. The man was an amoral, deathless murderer, the personification of Death itself...." He trailed off into a rare moment of meeting Methos' eyes. "Right. Ah, I'll be over here banging my head into this brick wall if anyone needs me." He walked away, and Amanda hoped he wouldn't be quite so literal in expiating his embarrassment. Then something occurred to her.  
  
"Okay, you're Death, and Germaine's Death too? How does that work?"  
  
"D'you think I trademarked it?" the ancient Immortal replied. "It's not like they had copyright law in the Bronze Age. Anyway, I'm more than happy to have several Deaths running around. Folks are less likely to make the connection. This dead Greek is, alas, one less decoy."  
  
Then, the two heard a voice from the study, thinking it Ian's. Amanda followed it, to make certain that Ian wasn't literally self-flagellating for his earlier remark; the boy was sweet, but he was an odd duck. Methos trailed her. As it turned out, it wasn't their Ian, but their former topic of conversation, his second-season self. And he was talking to the hand.  
  
"Thanks, Father. No, really. You know she hates me now, right?"  
  
"..."  
  
"Permanent, you said. Shocking, you said."  
  
"..."  
  
"That is the last time I take romantic advice from you!"  
  
"..."  
  
"I don't care about your track record! You're obviously still not interested in giving me any help in that department."  
  
"..."  
  
"Yes, and if I continue to aid you in your vengeance, I'll stay a virgin for the next thirty years, if I live that long!"  
  
"..."  
  
"What do you mean, company?" Nottingham the Third rose from his chair, elegant in his grey suit and power tie. He turned, and froze, then blinked. "Milord! And Amanda."  
  
"Pardon the eavesdropping," Methos said.  
  
"It's all right. Dad wanted to meet you anyway."  
  
The two Immortals circled slowly, warily, the ancient confronted by the unknown. "Mr. Irons. A pleasure," Methos said, finally, looking vaguely in the direction of the hand in the vase.  
  
"Hi Kenny!" Amanda said brightly. "Nice to see you again...more or less..." Methos shot her a sidelong glance. She shrugged.  
  
"He greets you both," Ian said, a slightly unnatural smoothness to his voice. That vanished to a rougher edge as he murmured, "Have a care. He's jealous of your kind, and his jealousy can be brutal." Then, louder, "Yes, I know you heard that."  
  
Then one of the study's doors flew open with a bang.  
  
The figure that entered bore a proton pack, trap, and thrower, but he had several features that the regular Ghostbusters did not, most notably long, black hair.  
  
"Little short for a Ghostbuster, aren't you?" Nottingham 3 inquired. The odd note had returned to his speech.  
  
"Weren't there," panted Danny Woo. "Damn, this thing's heavy." He adjusted the pack on his back and brought the thrower to bear on the vase. "YO! Ken-NY! We have got to have a little chat. Last I looked, I didn't have "taxi" tattooed on my ass. I don't know how you got out of Containment, but you do *not* get to ride me like a Yellow Cab! Not to mention, you got me socked in the jaw by a partner that could, if she wanted to, grow her own brass knuckles." The thrower whined, powering up. "So, I'm just gonna have to..."  
  
Then the thrower, inexplicably, powered down. It lowered, and then Danny shrugged out of the proton pack and placed it on the table. Methos and Amanda both stared at the detective, hackles rising, quickening energies prickling their senses. The *wrongness* in the air was palpable.  
  
Danny unhooked the ghost trap from his belt and surveyed the room. His features were oddly flat, and shadow streaked his face. His eyes, though, gleamed darkly.  
  
"I'm afraid," he said, "that the detective isn't quite himself at the moment. I hope that, when he returns, you'll all be so kind as to advise him of the futility of his actions?"  
  
"Father?" Ian 3 whispered.  
  
"The same. Hello again Amanda."  
  
Amanda grinned, if a touch nervously.  
  
"You've gained weight. No, wait, I think it's just your hair color."  
  
Amanda scowled and put a hand on her sword. "This is creepy," she muttered. "Can someone shut him up?"  
  
First season Ians One and Two had entered the room at the slamming of the door, and now watched the scene unfolding. "I...I cannot," Ian Three said.  
  
"Nor can I," the original echoed.  
  
"At any rate," continued the hijacked Danny, "I really just possessed him for shock value. I doubt his services will be much required in the future."  
  
"I can," Ian 2.0 said. Hopping a table, he moved fluidly to the possessed man's side and delivered a precise blow to his chin. Ians 1 and 3 winced.  
  
"It's a little low-tech," 2.0 shrugged, "but it works." He was, of course, grinning. At that point, Ian the First noticed something odd about his lips. They were blackened, unevenly.  
  
"Are you wearing makeup?"  
  
"No."  
  
His brothers eyed him curiously, Amanda with a small smile. Methos just rolled his eyes.  
  
Danny Woo then stood, rubbing his jaw. "He did it to me again, didn't he?"  
  
"Yep," Amanda replied.  
  
"Dammit! Okay, I didn't wanna have to do this, but I'm bringing in the big guns. I'm gonna call an old buddy of mine from the C.O.A."  
  
" C.O.A.?"  
  
"Chinese-American Officers Association. He used to be a cop out in California, but he's a priest these days. If he can't padlock my brain, then he can at least call his dad to do it."  
  
Shrugs all-round. "Whatever works," Amanda said. "Hey, I'd been meaning to ask you, how's Sara doing? Things can't be easy for her right now.  
  
Amanda addressed Danny, but Nottingham 3.0 began to speak. "She's...I think she's...." The third Ian's head shot up. "I feel something strange. Blankness. Something's wrong. I have to go to her!"  
  
"In the mood she's in, she'll gut him," Amanda observed. "At least, I would. We'd better follow him." And they all dogged Ian 3's heels, being among the very small selection of people with the capacity to do so.  
  
* * *  
  
Three sharp raps on the door drew the attention of a haggard, grief- stricken Sara Pezzini. She wandered over and looked through the peephole. Outside stood two men in black suits, white shirts, black ties, and sunglasses. One was grey-haired and craggy-faced, with an expression that was neutral but not unfriendly. The other was young, dark-skinned with close-cropped hair, and Pez might have found him attractive if she hadn't been mourning the love of her life.  
  
"Internal Affairs," the older man said. "Division Six."  
  
"Look, now is a really bad time."  
  
"I'm afraid we really must insist."  
  
"Okay. Can you show me some I.D.?"  
  
"Yeah, hang on." The man withdrew a silver tube and held it up to the peephole. Pez looked at it curiously.  
  
FLASH!  
  
A swipe of a small, silver gadget, and the door swung open before a blankly staring Sara. The older man walked her over to her couch, and the two men sat down, bracketing her. The white-haired agent lifted her Witchblade arm and looked at the roiling red eye of the bracelet.  
  
"Luuuucy," said the other, "You got some 'splainin to do."  
  
The Witchblade whirled.  
  
"Look, hon, when you take out a religious figure, you've got to expect that we're going to have a couple of questions."  
  
The younger agent looked at his partner. "What'd she say?"  
  
"Listen for her. What do you hear?"  
  
"Chorus of female voices, but it's indistinct."  
  
"Oh well. Comes with practice. You'll get the knack."  
  
"Man. Already feelin' like the junior partner again."  
  
"You are the junior partner again, Slick."  
  
The blade spun again, impatiently.  
  
"Yes, I know you predate MIB. So do I."  
  
"..."  
  
"Look, don't give me the "will of your wielder" business. You have her dancing to your tune just like everybody else."  
  
"..."  
  
"All right. *That,* I can accept, because it's the truth. See how easy that was? You ought to be more up-front with people." He ceased addressing the Witchblade and looked its Wielder in the eyes. "When you wake up in the morning, the grief will have faded slightly. Not a lot, but enough to let you know that life goes on. You'll feel a little bit better with each passing day, and know in your heart that you'll be the stronger for the experience. Also, nobody came to your door tonight except for two Jehovah's Witnesses. They offered to leave a copy of 'The Watchtower,' but you declined." He then leaned her back against the couch. "All right, junior, let's get moving."  
  
"What's the rush?"  
  
"This isn't quite over yet. We need to hustle. You're driving."  
  
As the two black suits moved to the door, the younger asked, "What's her story, anyway, Kay?"  
  
"She's been kicking around the planet since longer than any of our allies took an interest, so nobody really knows. We're pretty sure she's not from here, though."  
  
"Got it. And all the plotting and planning?"  
  
"Women. Go figure."  
  
"Funny how often that's the answer."  
  
The two slid swiftly into a black Mercedes and sped off quite literally into the night.  
  
* * *  
  
Nottingham 3.0 had made it as far as the front lawn when the LTD pulled up before him. He braced himself, drawing his broadsword. Two men in sunglasses emerged, silver weapons holstered at their sides, silver cylinders in their hands.  
  
"Ms. Pezzini's fine, Mr. Nottingham."  
  
"You'll pardon me if I proceed to make that determination myself." The sword sang through the air, and the younger man ducked and rolled, coming up to fire a blast that it deflected neatly. He didn't get time for another shot - Nottingham's blade was at his neck.  
  
"Before I answer that, you really oughta look behind you." Ian merely smiled and shook his head.  
  
"Fine, look in front of you, then," the man said, triggering a bright blue flash from his prone position. The neuralyzer's nimbus caught the approaching crowd of Nottinghams, Immortals, and cop as well. Everyone but the Nottinghams froze; the Nottinghams fell over, twitching slightly.  
  
"Hunh," said Jay. "Never seen it do that before."  
  
"Their brains are wired funny. It'll still work," said his partner Kay, poised behind Ian with a neuralyzer of his own.  
  
"Right. Gotcha. Hey, how'd you know he'd be after us?"  
  
"Witchblade turns her Wielder into a sort of queen bee, junior. She's probably got a nice collection of drones already, and it's a fair bet that none of them even know it yet. Some of 'em get sensitive enough to her moods to feel a neuralyzation. I just figured this guy was most likely."  
  
"Well, right-on as usual. Good to have you back, partner."  
  
"You know you say that about once a day?"  
  
"Want me to step it up?"  
  
"Might be nice."  
  
"Okay. You wanna talk 'em down or should I?"  
  
"Have at."  
  
"Okay." Jay turned to the stunned crowd. "All right. Sara Pezzini is fine, she's just grieving, and you all realize that she needs to be left alone for a while. You went outside to enjoy the lovely...sleeting...evening. Because you like sleet. But you're going to go back inside in a minute, 'cause it's cold out. We were never here. Also," he said walking over to Ian 2.0, "You're going to stop wearing that ponytail, 'cause it looks silly on a man your age." To Amanda, "You are going to dye your hair back dark, because nobody's buying the blonde." And to Methos, "You...you're cool, man, just keep doin' what you're doin.'"  
  
"Okay. C'mon, Slick."  
  
The agents re-joined their vehicle, and just before takeoff, Jay leaned his head out the door. "Oh, and you're gonna try to act a little more normal, 'cause y'all are strange."  
  
"Come *on*..."  
  
The black Mercedes lifted up and away.  
  
* * * END TMF 


End file.
